


Reunion of Hand, Shield, and King

by SecretEnigma



Series: Blood of My Blood verse [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crying, Does not happen, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Repercussions of Being a Time Traveling Single Dad, Feels, Gen, He Needs to Vent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Men Crying, Noctis Has Had a Long Three Years Okay?, POV Gladiolus Amicitia, POV Ignis Scientia, Protective Gladiolus Amicitia, Protective Ignis Scientia, So Do His Brothers, Team Mom Ignis Scientia, Team as Family, Time Travel Fix-It, Toddler Being Adorable, people jumping to conclusions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25957279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretEnigma/pseuds/SecretEnigma
Summary: Noctis has been found at last, and he brings with him a son. Ignis and Gladiolus are eager to reunite with their lost prince, but both of them are also anxious as to whether Noctis will even accept them after they failed to protect him 3 years ago, and then failed to find him again until now.But the bonds of brothers is not so easily broken, and really, Noctis is just glad to have them back.
Relationships: Cor Leonis & Noctis Lucis Caelum, Gladiolus Amicitia & Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia & Noctis Lucis Caelum, Gladiolus Amicitia & Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia, Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia, Noctis Lucis Caelum & Regis Lucis Caelum
Series: Blood of My Blood verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882282
Comments: 63
Kudos: 472





	Reunion of Hand, Shield, and King

**Author's Note:**

> Continuation of the previous one-shot in the Blood of My Blood verse, focusing on Ignis's and Gladiolus's POVs. I wanted to put this in the original one-shot, but it got too long, so I made it its own thing. I also kinda wanted to Noctis's POV of the reunions, but that wasn't working out and the one-shot was already 9k words long so....
> 
> Anyway the next two one-shots will focus more on little Dionysus, but I do have one planned for Prompto and another planned for Cor and Captain Drautos combined and honestly it will probably spiral further from there if my muses get hyper enough. XD
> 
> Also if anyone is wondering why Prompto is not here- Noctis and Prompto met when Noctis was 15 in canon. Noctis in this AU ran off (and was presumed kidnapped by everyone else) at age 14, so technically they haven't met yet. Don't worry though, Prom will fall into Noctis's orbit eventually anyway.

They weren’t told until two days after he had been brought home, and while on a conceptual level Ignis understood the reasoning, Noctis was stressed and exhausted and wouldn’t want people bursting in to see him, the rest of him didn’t think he’d ever quite forgive them for keeping the news from him for forty eight whole hours. Gladiolus was of a similar mind and not afraid to say so, yelling at the Marshal until Cor called harshly for silence. Cor insisted they both **sit down** and **be quiet** while he explained some things. If they did not, they would not be allowed to see Noctis until they did.

Ignis sat down and was quiet despite the way his every instinct screamed to get up and run to Noctis’s new rooms. To see his missing friend for himself and see what damage had been done over the three years he’d been missing, to fall on his hands and knees and apologize for failing to **protect** him that night he was taken —the night Ignis had spent peacefully in his bed, blissfully unaware as his heart and duty and purpose was ripped away from safety—. Gladiolus sat a moment later, hands shaking and clenched together, jaw tight as Cor … briefed them.

The first words out of his mouth were that Noctis had been taken by Niflheim and held for a year in one of their laboratories.

Gladiolus went white faced. Ignis had to immediately stand and rush for the nearest bathroom to throw up —he’d been asleep and Noctis had been taken, he’d failed his duty and Noctis had been hauled away to a **Niflheim lab** —. Cor waited with eyes that were not unsympathetic, and when Ignis sat down again, Cor passed him a cup of water. Gladiolus was shaking in his seat, faint but noticeable. A tremor that came from every muscle locked tight and silently screaming at not being able to get up and **hit** something. Ignis took three deep breaths, “You said … for a year. The other two?”

“Spent trying to get home,” Cor answered with grim eyes. “Through the wilderness and enemy territory. He couldn’t get into Accordo because of the surveillance on all boats leaving Niflheim for the island nation, so he managed to secure … less than legal passage on a fishing boat that needed help and didn’t ask questions. They dropped him off near the Rock of Ravatogh and he’d been walking ever since until I found him.”

Gladiolus swore, soft and fervent, and Ignis privately agreed, but forced his mind to focus on the important things, “Tell us honestly, Marshal. How … how is he?” _How badly did we fail him?_

Cor’s gaze softened in sympathy, just a little, “He’s lost a lot of weight, the doctors said they’ll send you the new diet plan they recommend to get him back on track in the next few days. He’s … he has a lot of scars, mostly blade scars. Swords, axes, lances, knives. A few wildlife caused scars, several from close calls with bullets.”

Gladiolus swallowed hard, “Any … you know … **science** scars?”

Cor’s expression became even more grim, “That wasn’t the kind of science they wanted from him, so no. Nothing like that.” _Wasn’t the_ ** _kind_** _of science they wanted?_ The sentence made no sense, but somehow asking for clarification felt like it would make everything worse. Cor took a breath and kept going, “He’s … scared. Skittish. Violent when startled. He’s been the only thing keeping himself alive for three years now, two of those in the wilderness while on the run from the Nif military, and that isn’t a mindset you can just … turn off. Even when all logic says you’re back in a safe space. He doesn’t like loud noises, or fast movement, and he does **not** like shouting.” This was said with a pointed look at Gladiolus, who nodded with a tight jaw. Cor leaned his elbows on his knees, “There’s more.”

They waited, but Cor didn’t speak further. The Marshal’s jaw worked, like he was trying to figure out what to say. Finally Ignis prodded, “More, Marshal?”

Cor side and ran a hand through his hair, “There’s no easy way to say this.” He looked down at the floor, then back up at them, “Noctis has a son. He’s two years old.”

For a moment, the words didn’t register. They bounced harmlessly off of Ignis’s ears without meaning or weight. Then they sank in, and there was shock. Noctis had a **son**? He’d gone missing when he was **fourteen** , he was seventeen now, that was far too young to have a son, it would have been under the age … of … consent.

_He’s two years old._

_That’s not the kind of science Niflheim wanted from him._

Factoring in travel time and false positives and gestation-.

It-.

Niflheim had-.

Noctis, **his Noctis** , that he had helped raise and stood beside since they were tiny **children** , **had been** -.

Gladiolus was on his feet and a nearby vase shattered against the far wall as Noctis’s Shield **roared** with rage, but Ignis barely heard it. Barely registered it. Nothing really made sense, no sound got fully past the fuzzy static in his ears, the numb sensation of **horror**. Noctis. His Noctis. Had been forced into fatherhood at age fifteen. His prince that had always needed to be dragged out of bed in the morning, and didn’t like veggies in anything, and could have aced all his homework but instead always procrastinated until the last minute, had become a father in the **heart of Niflheim**. Niflheim had- they-.

Cor was suddenly right there in front of him, holding his shoulders tightly and refusing to let go, back pressed up against the door Ignis was clawing for in a red-tinted **rage**. Ignis shook against Cor’s grip, shouted and struggled, but the grip was iron and rage soon sputtered out into a simmering nausea —he’d let this happen, he’d **let this happen** what kind of Hand couldn’t **protect his king from this** —. Ignis came back to himself seated on the couch again, now with a cup of tea in his shaking hands. Ignis swallowed thickly past the tears gathering, “Is he … how is…” He didn’t know how to ask. He didn’t even know what he was **asking** really.

Thankfully, Cor seemed to, “He’s … stable enough, considering everything he’s been through. Regis is looking into a proper therapist to help him work through it later, but we’re treading carefully in case it’s seen as a … jab toward the kid.” Cor’s expression softened, “The boy’s name is Dionysus, and he’s Noctis’s whole world now. He was just about ready to rip my intestines out with his bare hands when I found him, thought I was going to hurt the kid because of … his origins. But I was not, and **no one in the Citadel** is going to lay a finger on the kid.” The last part was said sharply, a warning that wasn’t necessary, because there was no way Ignis would harm a child, especially not Noctis’s. Ignis nodded numbly, even though he couldn’t wrap his head around Noctis, his lazy, gentle-natured Noctis, being a father. Having a son. Being so protective he was willing to fight Cor on the mere suspicion that Cor might raise a hand against the child.

Noctis was a father.

The information sat there in his mind, but he didn’t know what to **do** with it.

Cor cleared his throat to get their attention again, “We’re going to do this in a controlled manner. Both of you will get to see him again, and soon, but not together, and not until I say so, understand? Even Regis had to step lightly during their first reunion. Noctis was projecting crystal fractals in the air for the first half of it.”

“What is our strategy then?” Ignis asked robotically, mind already drifting to ideas and wrestling with the constant, looping thought that **Noctis had a child**.

“Ignis, you’ll go first.” Gladiolus made a noise of protest and Cor held up a hand, “That’s not a comment on **either** of you or your importance to Noctis. But I know you, you’re an Amicitia all the way through, and when there’s heightened emotions, there is **going** to be shouting. Maybe even some punching the wall. Noctis won’t tolerate that near Dionysus, so our best bet is to reintroduce him to someone he’ll trust to keep an eye on Dionysus while he’s in another room. Preferably a training room. I’m happy to watch the kid, so is Regis, and he seems to have calmed down enough to let either of us do it, but the two of us have duties, especially in the wake of all **this** , and we won’t be consistently available. He always had a soft spot for Ignis before, and Ignis has experience with royal children. We reintroduce Ignis first, see if you get along with Dionysus and if Noctis will let you babysit, **then** we let Noctis loose in the same room as his Shield.” He studied their expressions, Ignis’s one of careful blankness, Gladiolus’s one of suppressed tension, “Trust me,” he murmured, “this is the best plan we’ve got to make Noctis comfortable. This isn’t about us, this is about **him** and helping **him** feel safe here again. Got it?”

“Crystal,” rasped Gladiolus, and under his own churning emotions, Ignis felt pity for his friend. They had both waited and searched and prayed these three years, and now Gladiolus was being told to wait even **longer**.

Ignis adjusted his glasses and took a bracing breath, “When do I get to see him?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. He’s spending time with Regis today, and according to Noctis, afternoon is usually when he puts Dionysus down for a nap. You’ll have plenty of time to talk to him without any little ears listening so long as you keep it quiet, and Dionysus might feel more confident meeting someone after he’s had a good nap. If everything goes unusually perfectly, then Gladiolus will get to see Noctis either that evening or the following day. If not, then hopefully something can be arranged by the end of the week.” Cor fixed them with a stern look and after one last reminder to follow the plan for Noctis’s sake and a few more answered questions on Noctis’s mental state, he left. Gladiolus left not long after, muscles shaking with pent up anger and no doubt on his way to break all the training room dummies to work it off.

Ignis had a lot of pent up emotions too, but he didn’t usually vent them in training. Instead, Ignis washed his hands, got out his ingredients, and started cooking. He cooked for hours, a wide range of dishes that he remembered Noctis liking. The baked deserts he made himself from scratch, and there was something therapeutic in pounding and kneading the dough. He put soups on the back burners and put all three of his ovens —an extravagance for someone who lived in a Citadel suite that used to have a simple kitchenette, but Ignis had tired of borrowing the royal kitchen’s ovens all the time and had multiple ones installed for stress-cooking days like this— to use. One for baking —Noctis did so love his sweets, and perhaps his … son … had inherited that sweet tooth— and two for more filling dishes that were still easy on a stomach that hadn’t had much food or food of good quality.

When everything was in the ovens or on the burners and all that was left was waiting, Ignis sat down, rested his head in his hands, and cried. He cried for Noctis and everything he had been through while Ignis wasn’t there, he cried for Regis, who had gotten his son back but not the same, he cried for **himself** and the tangled knot of guilt and relief and worry crushing his chest. He cried because tomorrow he could not allow himself to cry, and so he had to get it all out now —Noctis needed anchors, he needed safety, he didn’t need to be a shoulder for anyone **else** to cry on, not when they were not the ones that had suffered—.

The next day, at precisely ten minutes after noon, Ignis arrived with a tray of freshly baked cookies and a hot dish of Noctis’s favorite rice recipe. Cor had told him that he would be expected, and sure enough, before he even had to announce himself, the door to the suite cracked open and Cor let him in with a nod before politely ducking out to guard the hall and give them privacy. Noctis was standing in the living room, fingers twitching with nerves, and as soon as Ignis stepped into the room, Noctis darted forward to snatch the dishes from his hands and put them on the kitchenette counter of the suite. In the moments Noctis was distracted with that, Ignis stared at his wayward prince.

He really had lost a lot of weight. Not enough to be truly dangerous, but the clothes he wore were far looser than they should have been, his cheekbones were too pronounced, and his hands and wrists were just of the edge of bony. The only bulk he had was muscle, and Noctis had always had more of a lean, whipcord build than Gladiolus’s tank-like frame. There were scars too. Long gashes and thin blade lines on his biceps, and what looked like a twisting tree of lightning scars branching its way up his forearm from his right hand. There was a faint scar on his cheek that Ignis could barely see from his current angle, and his hair was longer, tied back in a sloppy ponytail that made Ignis twitch internally for a hairbrush.

When Noctis turned around and met his gaze, Ignis felt his breath catch. There was so much there. There was a weariness there, an age and darkness that hadn’t been there three years ago. It reminded him of the veteran Crownsguard, of the Marshal. It reminded him of how steep the price for his failure had been, and that Noctis had been the one to pay that price. Ignis sank to his knees before he could think better of it, all his preprepared small talk and reassurances flying from his head under the weight of his regret and Noctis’s eyes widened in alarm, “Ignis-?”

“I’m sorry,” Ignis choked out, refusing to cry but so very close to doing so anyway, “I am so, so sorry Noctis. That night-. That night I should have-.”

Noctis was suddenly there, pulling him to his feet with a near wild look in his eyes, “ **No** , what are you-? Don’t apologize to me. Don’t **ever** apologize to me. Not for this. I-. This is on me. This has always been on me.”

Ignis barely remembered to keep his voice to a low hiss —no shouting, Cor had said, and Ignis would follow that rule no matter how dearly he wanted to shout—, “You were taken right from under my nose!”

“It’s the Citadel’s nose!” Noctis hissed back, “This was the one place you weren’t supposed to have to worry about me, Ignis, you can’t blame yourself for trusting Citadel security. This was … I …” Noctis looked away, expression closing off like it did when he didn’t want to say something, or think about something, “You…”

“Noctis, I-.”

Arms wrapped around him, strong as steel and full of desperate, needy energy. Ignis froze, because while Noctis had never really minded other people initiating affectionate contact —he’d let Gladiolus ruffle his hair, or Ignis wrap an arm around his shoulders, or his father pull him into a hug all the time—, had enjoyed it even, he had only rarely initiated it himself. He had been reserved like that, shy about it ever since the Marilith and Tenebrae’s fall. But now, after everything that had happened, he was the one hugging **Ignis** , not the other way around.

Instinct kicked in a moment later and Ignis hugged him back, tight and shaking from relief and guilt.

“Right Hand of my body,” Noctis whispered into Ignis’s shoulder, “strong guide for my mind. Oldest of my chosen brothers, never doubt your place at my side.” Ignis twitched, almost pulled away, because those were the ancient words of the Retinue, the oath that kings gave and were given in return when they chose their Shield, or their Hand, or their Heart, or their Sword. Those were words for when Ignis took his oath as Crownsguard, if he even deserved them at all-.

Pressure filled the air, magic so strong it turned the air blue, and Ignis keened as he **felt** it sink into his bones, felt the singing of Noctis’s soul against his, calling to him in a way he could never return, wrapping around his lungs and heart with _love-acceptance-_ ** _faith_** that almost brought Ignis to his knees from its strength. The Bond of the Hand —bond he didn’t deserve, bond he had always wanted but had failed so deeply— forged between them as Noctis guided them gently to kneel on the carpet, still clutching each other. Magic seeped into his blood, his heartbeat, his eyes. It filled every part of him with Noctis’s _love-mine-my-Hand-my-brother-my-faith_. There was no hesitation, no recrimination. There was none of the pain Ignis had been told through researching the lives of previous Hands would come from having magic carve a permanent place in his soul. The magic just settled there inside him like it had always been and always would be, and in the face of such soul-deep trust and love and happiness at being reunited, Ignis could only cling tighter to his prince —his **king** —, and cry.

Despite all his promises to himself that he would stay strong, that he would be Noctis’s anchor, that he wouldn’t cry, Ignis found himself burying his face in Noctis’s hair and sobbing quietly. With his face pressed against the joint of Ignis’s neck and shoulder, Noctis cried too, and there was relief in the sound. Ignis reached up a hand to pet Noctis’s hair on instinct, trying to comfort even as he struggled with his own emotions, “You’re alright, Noct,” he whispered and the answering tightening of the hug was all the sign he needed to continue, “You’re going to be alright. You’re home now. You’re home.”

They stayed there for a long time, pressed together, Noctis’s magic humming between them, projecting every emotion that entered Noctis’s soul and making Ignis wish he could reach back and show Noctis the same, when all he could really do was hold Noctis tight and pet his hair and whisper reassurances. Eventually, the tears dried, and their breathing calmed. Ignis found himself sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, Noctis curled up against his side with his head resting on Ignis’s shoulder. The new magic humming in his soul felt … almost content. Relaxed.

“This isn’t how I expected this to go,” Noctis mumbled tiredly after a long silence.

Ignis laughed despite himself, a thin, watery sound, “Oh?”

“Hmm. I expected … I don’t know really. Maybe a lecture, or just sitting around the table insisting I was fine while you insisted I wasn’t and made me eat a bunch of vegetables.”

Ignis’s grip tightened on Noctis, “Of all the things you deserve, Noctis, a **lecture** is not one of them. Least of all from me.”

“Yeah, but-.”

“No,” Ignis said firmly, “You’ve been through … more than I can imagine. There won’t be any lectures from me. Not for a long time.”

Noctis huffed a soft laugh against Ignis’s neck, then sobered, “…I missed you. Astrals, you have no idea how **much**.”

Ignis exhaled slowly, “I missed you too, I … we never stopped searching for you. Not even for a moment. I always hoped and prayed that you would come home.”

There was a twitch, a ripple in the magic that felt like guilt, “Ignis, I-.”

“Don’t. Don’t blame yourself. You’re back now, and that’s all that matters,” Ignis murmured. “You’re back and you’re **safe** now.”

“…Okay.”

Ignis rested his cheek on the top of Noctis’s head and let the silence settle for a while, then broke it with a tentative, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Noctis flinched in Ignis’s arms, visceral and deep and Ignis regretted asking immediately. Noctis didn’t pull away though, just sighed, “Astrals, Ignis, I don’t know where to start. It’s … it’s been so **long**.”

Ignis rocked them back and forth a little before settling, “Start wherever you want, Noct, or don’t start at all if you prefer. If you don’t feel ready to talk, then you don’t have to.”

Noctis seemed to think about it, then whispered, “I thought about you a lot. Out … out there. I’d get stuck with something, or Dyn would be crying and I didn’t know how to fix it and I’d just-. I’d ask myself what you would do, then I’d do that.” Noctis laughed again, a breathless thing, “I made Dyn eat vegetables. I felt like **such** a hypocrite, telling him all the things you used to tell me about how they were good for him and he needed to eat them.”

Ignis couldn’t stop himself from laughing along with Noctis, just as quiet and weak, “Did you have any better success than I did?”

“Oh, lots more. Dyn will eat **anything**. It’s horrifying. You have **no idea** how many times I’ve had to keep him from eating something he shouldn’t because he assumed it was food. If he wasn’t trying to pluck leaves from plants when I wasn’t looking, he was chasing down **bugs**.”

Ignis smothered a snort and shifted to give Noctis an incredulous look, “Bugs?”

Noctis gave him a look of such tired exasperation that Ignis started chuckling again, “He likes the **crunch**.”

Ignis actually laughed, bright and real, then couldn’t resist saying, “You know, some traditional cuisines around the world incorporate insects. Why, the Cavaugh region right next door has this traditional recipe for roasted grasshoppers-.”

Noctis thumped Ignis’s chest with a hand and groaned, “Do **not**. **Do not**. I’ll never get him to eat normal food again if he learns that. Grasshoppers are his **favorite** bug to horrify me with. He chases them down and catches them by the handful then looks me **dead in the eye** as he shoves them in his mouth. He mocks me with the things I swear.”

“Noct, he’s only two.”

“Two years old and just as much a mischief maker as Ar-.” Noctis stopped. Everything about him stopped. Every movement and sound, even his breathing. He went rigid in Ignis’s arms and Ignis held him tight, heart hurting all over again as he felt Noctis retreat into himself, magic humming with _anger-regret-grief-affection-anger_ so deep it made Ignis’s bones ache like old breaks. Ignis wondered, briefly and morbidly, if Noctis had not been the only victim of Niflheim’s … desires. He thought of asking. Of pushing. He could ask who this “Ar” was, if they were male or female or, considering the context the name had come to Noctis’s tongue, the other half of Dionysus’s DNA. If maybe the “Ar” in the equation had been no more a willing participant than Noctis had —there were many ways to force people to do what they didn’t want to do, and even in a lab, drugs weren’t the only answer—. He wanted to ask if this “Ar” had been a friend, or a fellow escapee, or if they had just been a stranger Noctis traveled with on the road for a while.

But he didn’t ask. He didn’t dare when the wound was so obviously painful to Noctis. When, judging by the grief he could feel pushing at his soul, he already knew that the answer to “where is this person now” would be “dead in the ground”.

Noctis shook himself out of his daze and sat up slowly. He tugged on his hair, the picture of an awkward teen, and Ignis swallowed back his own wants and questions in favor of what Noctis needed right now. Namely, a distraction, “Are you hungry? I brought food, and I have plenty more in my suite.”

Noctis perked up, relief in his eyes at the subject change, “I could eat. Did you go on a cooking binge?”

“Not a ‘binge’, but I did put my ovens to good use yesterday in preparation to welcome you home.”

Noctis grinned, a tired thing, but familiar in the way it crinkled on the edges and dimpled on his cheeks, “Great. I don’t have to worry about food for the week then.” Noctis glanced at the door leading to his bedroom, where Ignis assumed the child was sleeping still, then at the clock on the wall, “Huh. Should work.” A blink from Ignis and Noct answered the unspoken question on Ignis’s mind, “If we reheat the food, Dyn will smell it and wake up. I just didn’t want to cut his nap short. But it’s been long enough he’ll probably wake up on his own soon anyway.”

“I’m eager to meet him,” Ignis admitted as they carefully stood up, “does he have any allergies? I prepared some sweets, but I wasn’t sure what he would like or could eat.”

“Like I said earlier,” Noctis drawled, “ **anything** that isn’t actively poisonous is on that boy’s menu. Give him half a chance and I think he’d take a bite out of a malboro.” Noctis shot a narrow look at Ignis, “Do **not** cook him anything made from a malboro. For my sanity.”

“I don’t have any such recipes anyway.” Ignis acquiesced. Noctis mumbled something Ignis didn’t quite catch but sounded almost like “new recipeh” and wisely chose to let it slide. He busied himself reheating the mother and child rice bowl he’d brought while Noctis slid into a seat at the counter and watched him work with a look that could only be called nostalgic. Ignis supposed it **had** been a long time since Noctis saw him work. Ignis divided the bowl onto two plates, one for Noctis and one for Dionysus on the assumption the boy would wake up soon. He was just putting the first of the two plates on the table when he heard the faintest noise from the bedroom. In an instant, Noctis was gone, across the room and opening the door, disappearing inside with a gentle ramble of soft speech Ignis couldn’t catch. He stared at the doorway, stunned somehow at how **fast** Noctis had moved without using magic. How attentive he’d been to identify the noise and rush to the bedroom.

Ignis didn’t think he could remember Noctis moving that fast for **any** reason.

Noctis reemerged a few moments later, and Ignis got his first look at Dionysus. The two year old was curled in his father’s arms, still yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes, his hair a tousled, flyaway mess that Ignis knew from experience was a nightmare to brush out when it was attached to a wiggly child. Ignis held perfectly still as Noctis approached, like a nature observer watching a mother Coeurl with her cub and not wanting to get torn apart for it —Cor had said Noctis was ready to kill him for getting too close at first, and that even Regis had had a rocky first meeting because of Noctis’s protective instincts—. While Noctis was busy murmuring to his son, Ignis took his chance to observe.

He was very small, but not abnormally so for a two year old, he was thin but nowhere near as thin as Noctis, which meant Noctis had been giving his son the lion’s share of any food and the thought made Ignis’s heart both pang from regret and swell with pride —regret that Noctis had ever been forced to make that choice, pride that he had **done** so, had so clearly done his best for his child—. Caucasian skin with a surprisingly healthy tan —no doubt they’d spent a lot of time outdoors, but Ignis wondered if Dionysus **enjoyed** being outdoors, unlike Noctis at that age—, and flyaway silk hair that was not black but rather a rich red-violet that bordered on purple. He lowered his little fists from his eyes and turned his head toward the smell of food while resting it on Noctis’s shoulder and Ignis saw bright blue eyes. Noctis’s shade of blue, the same shade as the magic of armiger.

Dionysus spotted Ignis and stiffened, twisting to hide most of his face against his father’s neck, only one eye peeking out as he clutched at his father’s shirt. Ignis stayed still, trying to look as friendly and harmless as possible while Noctis carried Dionysus over and murmured, “Dyn, this is Ignis. Can you say hi?”

Dionysus pushed his face further against Noctis’s neck, but Ignis was pretty sure the mumble the boy gave was a hello. Ignis smiled, he couldn’t help it, the boy was cute. But he made no move to come closer —he remembered what Cor had said, that even **Regis** , Noctis’s father, had had a difficult time getting Noctis to lower his guard during their first reunion, and in that light Ignis wanted to cause no trouble—, “Hello, Dionysus. It is a pleasure to meet you. Do you like rice?”

The boy peeked at him again, curiosity bright in his one visible eye, then he pulled back his head enough to whisper loudly in Noctis’s ear, “Safe?”

Noctis’s expression was warm and there was nothing guarded in his gaze, “Yes. Ignis is always safe. If you ever need **anything** and I’m not around, go to Ignis. He’ll help you.” While Dionysus considered this with all the solemnity of a two year old, Ignis tried to remember how to breathe. Both Cor and Regis had been regarded warily, Cor had made such a point on how Noctis had been the only thing keeping his son safe for two years, how paranoid that would make him. And yet here he was, unhesitatingly telling his son that **Ignis** , his advisor, his Hand who didn’t deserve to be either, was … safe.

Dionysus turned his head to fully consider Ignis, and Ignis was still too shocked to do more than stare back with a baffled expression. The sensation of being poked in his soul was so strong it felt physical and Ignis jerked in surprise. It didn’t feel like Noctis, or the new bond of magic between them, this felt other, clumsier. Before he could process what that meant, Dionysus had relaxed and was smiling at him,bright and trusting like Ignis was an old friend, “Iggy! Da’s Iggy! Hi, Da’s Iggy!”

Noctis looked startled for a moment, like he hadn’t expected Dionysus to warm up to the idea so fast, then laughed as he sat down with his son in his lap and the sound lit the room, “That’s right, Dyn. My Iggy. But I’ll share him with you.”

Dionysus nodded again, like this was some grand declaration on his father’s part, then turned to Iggy with bright blue eyes and a sunlike smile, “Da’s Iggy stay?”

Ignis blinked twice, adjusted his glasses and resumed putting food on the table on instinct, “As long as Noctis wants me to.”

Noctis’s expression sobered, but there was a light in his eyes as he answered, not as bright or innocent as it used to be, but warm and steady and strong —the light of a king, and for the second time, Ignis’s breath was taken away—, “Always.”

Ignis turned around to find glasses for them to drink from to hide the way his eyes were wet again, the way his hands were shaking from the weight of Noctis’s unhesitating, unshakable faith. Faith to let him remain Noctis’s Hand, faith to let him near Dionysus without reserve, faith to let him see Noctis in his weakest moments after two years apart.

In the back of his mind, he wondered what he had ever done to earn more of Noctis’s trust than Noctis’s own father.

In his heart he knew he would anything to keep it. Anything for the two Lucis Caelums sitting across from him. He would tear the **world** down with his bare hands if that’s what it took to keep Noctis, and now Noctis’s son, safe.

* * *

Gladiolus paced the length of the training room. Ignis had texted him ten minutes ago, saying that his meeting with Noctis and Dionysus had gone “well” and that Noctis had agreed to let Ignis babysit while he came down to meet Gladiolus. Gladiolus had been unable to sit still ever since. His mind was churning, his hands were itching and there was a fury —a guilt— in his gut that wouldn’t let him calm down. He wanted to text Ignis back, demand to know how Noctis was doing, but he knew it wouldn’t help. He had to see Noct for himself, see what the damage was.

See the consequences for failing his duties as a Shield.

He stopped in the middle of the room and breathed to keep from punching the nearest wall. His father had told him many times that it was foolish to blame himself for Noct’s disappearance, and logically he knew it was. He didn’t even live in the Citadel. At the time Noct had been kidnapped, he’d been asleep in the Amicitia family home. There was nothing he could have done, no way he could have known, not when all of the Citadel’s security —when all of **Insomnia’s** security— hadn’t noticed in time. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel guilty. He was Noct’s Shield. He was supposed to protect him. He was supposed to stand by Noct’s side through thick and thin, kick the prince’s butt when he needed someone to get him moving, help him up when he stumbled.

Instead he had been stuck here in Insomnia for three years. Never knowing where Noctis was, or if he was still alive, or if he was okay. Noct had been taken away to a Niflheim **lab** and forced to have a kid. He’d escaped on his own and gone on the run for **two years** , struggling to find his way back home from the heart of enemy territory with a baby, all by himself, and Gladiolus **hadn’t been there**. He couldn’t help but blame himself for that, even though he knew he shouldn’t. That there was nothing he could have done. He still felt so-.

There was a light knock on the doorframe to the training ground and Gladiolus whirled. Noctis stood in the doorway, leaning his hip against the frame and watching Gladiolus with a wary expression, “Can I come in? Or is now a bad time?” The question was honest, not a jibe, and it made Gladiolus’s chest hurt.

Gladiolus gestured in a way he hoped was welcoming despite his nerves, “Yeah, of course. Thanks for … thanks for being up for this today.”

Noctis’s expression softened and he walked into the room, shutting the door behind him before Gladiolus could catch more than a glimpse of Cor leaning on the wall outside, “Up for this? I don’t know why Cor insisted on stringing these along. I **missed** you guys-.” Noctis’s voice cracked and he looked away, then looked back with too-bright eyes, “I missed you guys,” he repeated in a whisper, “more than I can say.”

Gladiolus stalked forward and opened his arms in invitation —three years ago he would have just hugged Noct and had done, three years ago he wouldn’t have needed to hug Noct at all—, “We could say the same.” He answered hoarsely. Noctis took a shaky breath and slotted into Gladiolus’s arms easily. Gladiolus tried not to squeeze too hard, not when he could feel how bony Noctis was, not when he didn’t know if there was trauma he might trigger —Gladiolus, as the next royal Shield, had to study a lot of stuff, PTSD and psychology in relation to combat and torture and trauma was one of them—. Noctis pulled away a moment later and stared at Gladiolus like he could pick the bigger man apart with just his eyes.

Then he turned and made straight for the rack of wooden training swords. Gladiolus shifted uneasily as Noctis pulled two greatswords off the rack and tossed one to him, “Hey-, are you sure you wanna?”

“You’re angry,” Noctis answered, “and you need to blow off some steam. I need to blow some off too and it’s been-.” Noctis paused, inhaled slowly, exhaled, “It’s been a while. I want-. I want to see-.” He huffed through his nose and glared at the wall with a gaze that made Gladiolus uneasy —there was too much weight in that gaze, too much age for an seventeen year old who had been a vaguely spoiled and laidback fourteen year old last time Gladiolus saw him—, “I want to **see**.”

Gladiolus hesitated a little longer, then grabbed the practice greatsword and shifted into position, “Okay then.” If Noctis wanted to work out whatever he was feeling in a fight, then they’d do that. Gladiolus could understand that, “Let’s see how much you remember, yeah?”

Noctis snorted, but his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile as he slid into an opening stance, “Enough to kick your butt.”

Gladiolus grinned despite himself, caught in the heady relief at a moment that felt almost … normal. Almost like no time had passed at all —even though it had, Noctis looked different, moved different, acted different, but in this at least, there was familiar ground—, “Big words, Princess. Let’s see you back them up.”

They both paused, waiting to make sure the other was ready, then started.

It was like fighting an avalanche, or a hurricane. Gladiolus was on the defensive in seconds, bracing against attacks that shook his teeth when they impacted his practice sword. Noctis came at him with a grace that was almost **lazy** , none of the clumsy effort or strain from holding the big blade that Gladiolus remembered. His stance was rock solid when Gladiolus managed to go on brief counter offensives, and his gaze never wavered. They drove each other back and forth across the training room, Noctis doing far more of the driving than the retreating, and in his sword, Gladiolus could feel a story unfolding.

In Noctis’s graceful, near soundless steps he saw a survivor, a refugee who knew that silence was the only thing that could save him. In his strikes, Gladiolus found a predator, a powerful, self-assured creature of blood and fury that knew exactly where to strike to take down enemy and prey alike. In Noctis’s defense there was the steadiness of a mountain, no hesitation or doubts on his place in the field, nothing that might make him falter because to falter was to expose himself —expose his **son** — to danger. In the burning blue eyes that followed his every movement, Gladiolus saw the age of a soldier, and a steadiness that reminded him of something he couldn’t grasp until finally, minutes later, Gladiolus’s sword went flying from his grasp in a clatter of sound and Noctis’s practice blade came to rest against his throat.

Over the flat of the blade, Gladiolus looked into Noctis’s eyes and saw a king looking back.

Gladiolus swallowed and the lump in his throat was bitter —he’d always pushed Noctis to be better, to become the king he was meant to be, but looking at him now, with such age and blood-soaked weight, Gladiolus wished he could give Noctis his childhood back—, “I yield.”

Noctis lowered his greatsword, but he looked frustrated somehow, “Were you taking it easy on me?”

There was a spark of incredulity and shame in his gut, that Noctis thought he’d been holding back, that Noctis thought it had been too **easy** when Gladiolus had been training himself so hard for **three years** , “You think I’d do that?”

There was a flicker in Noctis’s expression and Gladiolus realized his tone had been too sharp. Noctis looked away, “Not … I just remember you always kicking me into the ground before, and I know Cor lectured you and Ignis about treating me with kid gloves. So I thought…”

“That because I did pathetic than I was letting you win?” Gladiolus growled bitterly, and not for the first time he wished he’d just grabbed a car and gone to find the Tempering Grounds himself rather than begging Cor to take him and being denied and then monitored to make sure he wouldn’t sneak away. Noctis stared at him in surprise and Gladiolus swallowed hard again, “Look, Noct, I-.”

Noctis’s jaw tightened and he raised his greatsword back into position, “Again.”

“Wha-, what?”

The eyes of a king bored into him, weighty and angry, “ **Again**.”

They fought again. And again. And a third time, Noctis winning every time, driving Gladiolus around the ground, somehow faster and more brutal each time Gladiolus lost and got more frustrated. Finally, Gladiolus was angry enough at himself —at his own inadequacies— to be tempted to throw the greatsword down and stomp away like Noct used to do as a kid. As if Noctis could sense the thought, Noctis brought his sword down in a powerful overhead swing that crashed against Gladiolus’s guard hard enough to make his knees shake. There was something burning in Noctis’s eyes, something that reflected Gladiolus’s own anger, “Yield.”

Gladiolus bared his teeth and pushed back, using his larger frame to hold against the magic enhanced blow, “No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t quit!”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t!”

The greatsword in Noctis’s hands reversed strike so fast Gladiolus almost didn’t block in time, and the strike that shuddered down the wooden blade could have broken his ribs if it had landed, “Why **not**?”

Gladiolus clenched his jaw. His arms were shaking, he was breathing harder than he ever had in training before. Noctis was underweight and had been on the run for two years and he was **toying** with Gladiolus, and it **hurt** in more ways than one, “Because I’m a Shield. I don’t quit.”

Noctis raised his chin, “Then why do you act like you’ve already failed?”

Gladiolus saw red. He roared and charged, beat his sword against Noctis’s like it was more a mace than a wooden practice blade, “ **Because I did**! I’m a **Shield**! I’m **your** Shield and I **couldn’t protect you!** You were taken away and **tortured** , you’ve been alone and on the run for **years** , years I should have been there to **watch your back, and I was useless**! I was **stuck here** , training, while you were out risking your life just trying to **get home**!” Their blades slammed together with a crack like a gunshot and Gladiolus swore as the practice swords shattered under the strain, wooden splinters and chips flying everywhere, clattering against walls and slicing open skin.

Gladiolus wanted to punch something. He wanted to grab someone and beat their **face in** , but the only person here was Noctis, so he forced himself to back away with shaking hands and rattling breath, fighting the red mist in his eyes as his temper screamed at him. He blinked his way clear and saw Noctis standing there, cradling one wrist, blood dripping down from cuts on his arms and cheek from where the wood had sliced him. _My fault,_ he thought sickly, and all the fight went rushing out of him. He sat down on the floor and ran his hands through his hair, tried to keep his voice from shaking pathetically as he spoke, “I was stuck here. Training. Never knowing if you were alive or dead. Always wondering if there was something I could have done-. I tried to make Cor take me to the Tempering Grounds, but he refused. I even tried to join the Kingsglaive so I could look for you, so I could **fight** , but my dad forbid it and Captain Drautos wasn’t going to go against the order of the King’s Shield.” Gladiolus barked a bitter laugh at his knees, “Now look at me. Lashing out at my prince because he learned how to fight better than me while **running for his life** and the life of his kid.” He buried his face in his aching hands, “I’m so **selfish** and **useless**.”

The silence ached. Gladiolus was afraid to look up. Because if he did and saw contempt or fear on Noctis’s face, he didn’t know what he’d do. Run off and get himself killed by legendary Swordmaster probably.

Someone sat down gingerly beside him, and a moment later, Noctis’s lanky frame was leaning against his, “I’m sorry.” Gladiolus froze, dared to raise his head. Noctis was staring at the shattered remains of the greatswords, but his gaze was far away. He looked tired, empty.

Broken.

“I’m sorry,” Noctis whispered again, and there was something there Gladiolus didn’t understand, something under the words he couldn’t fathom. Guilt gnawed, but before he could apologize —Cor had warned against this, he was supposed to be welcoming Noct **home** , not dumping all his insecurity issues on the kid’s lap— Noctis started talking.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you were useless, or weak. You’re **not**. I wish you could see that. I wish … I wish I could make you understand when I say you **were** with me. Every step of the way. You and Iggy and… you were with me. Iggy kept my head on straight, and when I didn’t know what to do with Dyn, it was his advice I followed. But you… you were there too. Every battle I fought, every monster or Nif or daemon-. You were watching my back. I would have-,” Noctis laughed and the sound was edged with hysteria, “Gladio, I would have been dead a thousand times over without you. Your training. Your stubborn, infuriating tendency to drag my sorry butt out of bed and out onto the track or into the training room. I … I honed it out there in the wilds, but everything I had out there … that was you. Your training. You never let me skip out like the tutors, and Iggy never liked to step in the ring with me. But you dragged me out there and beat what I needed to survive into my head and it **worked** because **here I am**.”

Gladiolus felt like it was hard to breathe, and he wasn’t sure if it was from his own feelings or from Noctis’s magic leaking out to blanket the room, pushing everything down with emotional pressure, “But I **wasn’t** there,” he whispered, “I wasn’t there, and if I can’t … if I can’t keep up with you, what chance do I have against the things that will come after you?”

Noctis looked up and his eyes were a brilliant ruby color that drilled into Gladiolus’s core, “You **were** there. In the ways that mattered most. You are my **Shield** and you will **always** be my Shield. You will **always** be worthy. You’ll **get** experience, and someday you’ll be good enough to curbstomp Gilgamesh himself if you ever wanted to.”

_How do you know?_ Gladiolus wanted to ask, but couldn’t get the words out, _How can you believe in me like this? The worst three years of your life and I wasn’t there when you needed me, I wasn’t even allowed to look for you. How can you_ ** _know_** _?_

Noctis’s eyes narrowed, like he knew, somehow, what Gladiolus was thinking. With unflinching hands, he took Gladiolus’s right wrist and held it tight, “Shield of my body,” he intoned and magic curled around them like dragon claws, “rampart of my resolve.”

Gladiolus knew this oath. He knew what it meant and what it entailed. This wasn’t something he was supposed to hear out loud until he was a Crownsguard, until Noctis was **ready** to be king, “Noct- Noct, wait-!”

Noctis’s hand squeezed, and his grip burned like ice and fire on Gladiolus’s skin, “Strongest of my chosen brothers,” Noctis pushed on stubbornly, eyes flashing eerie bright, “ **never doubt your place at my side**.”

Magic tightened, sank beneath his skin and **clicked** , sharp and stubborn and demanding. Not the tingling pain of something carving out a new place that his father had told him about, but rather a jarring **yank** of something going back **into** place. Something demanding he let it in because it **belonged** there and would not be denied. A lightning static of _you-are-mine-you-are-worthy-you-are_ ** _lovedmineminemine_** that jolted through his blood and jumped with each slam of his heart against his ribs.

Gladiolus gasped under the feeling. The strength, the stubborn power, the trust that this was right, that Gladiolus belonged here. With Noctis. With magic. With the title of Shield.

Noctis watched him, stubborn and almost petulant, like he was waiting for the moment —dreading the moment, fearing the moment— that Gladiolus protested this. Protested being his Shield. For **any** reason.

Gladiolus’s dad had told stories about being Regis’s Shield before, lots of times, but he had never really gotten across what it was like to be able to **feel** his king’s emotions. His loyalty. His trust. It was dizzying, exhilarating, **terrifying** , because in his own mind he had already fallen so, so short and yet the new magic in his soul thrummed with an unshakeable belief that he was **more than enough**.

_I’ll do anything for this._ He realized dimly as Noctis waited for his reaction. _I’ll go to any length, any trial, any battle, to keep this safe. I won’t fail again. I won’t lose this. Not while I’m still breathing._

“I know,” Noctis murmured softly, as if he could hear every thought in Gladiolus’s head, or maybe Gladiolus had just gasped it aloud without meaning to, “I know you will. That’s why I trust you.” Noctis smiled, but it was wobbly, pleading, “That’s why your my brother, right?”

Three years ago, Gladiolus would have reacted to the emotional display with a friendly punch to the shoulder and a joke, or maybe if he was feeling like being a softy, a quick one armed hug around the shoulders. Now, with three years of absence tearing at his heart and doubts that were still trying to gnaw at his bones despite the unshakeable trust humming through Noct’s magic, with a **promise** etching itself into his soul to never, **ever** stray from Noct’s side or fail again…

Gladiolus pulled Noctis into a tight bear hug, clinging to his prince like he could somehow protect him from those three lost years if he just held on tight enough. Noctis returned it with a breathless, grateful laugh that sounded like relief. Gladiolus buried his face in Noctis’s hair and forced himself not to cry through sheer willpower —he’d dumped enough of his issues on his wayward king already, he needed to man up and by the Shield now, the anchor that Noct needed after so long alone—, “I missed you, Noct.”

Noctis’s fingers curled tight in his jacket, and Gladiolus neither minded nor was surprised when his king-brother’s shoulders started shaking with tears, “I missed you too, Gladio. I missed you so **much**.” Noctis’s breath hiccuped and he whispered, “I keep **crying**. I cried a-all over Iggy t-too…”

“It’s okay,” Gladiolus answered without hesitation, “It’s okay, Noct. You’re safe.” He swallowed back his own tears and insisted quietly, “You did great, Noct. You made it. You **did it**. It’s okay to cry now.”

He took a wet breath, “You don’t have to be strong anymore.”

In his arms, Noctis sagged with a high pitched whine. For the second time that day, Noctis broke in the arms of a brother for all he had seen and found and lost that Gladiolus doubted he would ever know of or understand.

Gladiolus held him in the empty training room, and when Noctis’s shaking had finally eased into an exhausted doze, he picked up his prince and carried him up to his new rooms. Ignis let them in at the slightest knock of Gladiolus’s boot, gaze softening with remorse and relief at the sight of Noctis sleeping trustingly in Gladiolus’s grip. He led them inside toward the bedroom of the suite, and Gladiolus got his first look at Noctis’s son as they passed through the living room, a bright eyed, red haired boy who blinked worriedly at the sight of a stranger carrying his dad until Ignis patted his head and whispered that it was just “his father’s nap time”.

Gladiolus set Noctis down on the bed, then settled down in a nearby chair without even thinking about it. He didn’t think he’d be ready to let Noct out of his sight anytime soon. Not willingly. Ignis settled in another chair, and a moment later Noctis’s son —his **son** and that was a shock Gladiolus would ponder another day— toddled in after them. The little boy —Dionysus, Cor had said his name was, right?— looked from Ignis, to Noctis on the bed, to Gladiolus, head tilted and far too solemn for a two year old. The boy trundled up to Gladiolus and rested a hand on his knee, “Da’s.” He announced in a solemn whisper. Then he paused, “Da’s?”

Gladiolus smiled despite himself, reminded of Iris as a toddler, and little Talcott, the newest child of his family’s retainers, “That’s right. I’m your- I’m Noct’s Shield.”

Dionysus pondered that, “Shiel. She-. Shield. Da’s Shield.” Something like recognition lit up blue eyes, “Gladdy.”

Gladiolus stared, “Uh. Yeah. That’s … that’s my name.” Had Noctis told **stories** about him to the kid?

Dionysus’s solemn expression gave way to a shy smile and he hugged Gladiolus’s leg, “Da’s Gladdy. Good. Da was sad. No Iggy, no Gladdy, no Prom. Was sad. Good now.” Declaration made and Shield thoroughly flabbergasted —he talked differently than Iris had at that age, and also who or what was a Prom?— Dionysus turned around and made his way to Ignis, hands raised in the universal signal to be picked up. Ignis obliged and in an astonishing amount of seconds, the toddler was out cold in Ignis’s lap.

Over the heads of their two sleeping charges, Ignis and Gladiolus exchanged looks. This was the new norm now. It was going to take a lot of getting used to but…

They had Noctis back. They had Noctis, and Noctis had a tiny, adorable son he clearly adored. He was back and he **accepted** them. Trusted them still when they both felt he shouldn’t. He was **home**.

They were never letting him go anywhere without them again.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Fact: One of the reasons I wanted to do a Noctis POV in this was because of Gladiolus. Like- Gladiolus has surprisingly low self-esteem in this one-shot when it comes to his fighting skills, he has NO IDEA how well he actually did. Noctis was trying to provoke him into getting over his insecurities, since usually the best way to shake Gladiolus out of a funk is to make him mad or let him vent in combat. That kinda backfired, but honestly the fact that Gladiolus lasted minutes on end, REPEATEDLY, during a spar against the guy who (in my HCs) has all the experience and memories of the Lucii to back up his sword techniques is really freaking impressive. And yes, Noctis held back some, but not as much as Gladiolus's self-recrimination would imply.
> 
> On another note, I have no idea how 2 year olds behave and the internet is not so helpful on that issue. So if Dionysus isn't ... acting "right" for that age just- just assume it's because of his origins and because he's spent the last two years with only his dad for company while running around in the wilderness. Or something.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Reunion of Hand, Shield, and King](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26184352) by [Shadow_Dragon_jem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Dragon_jem/pseuds/Shadow_Dragon_jem)




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